The Course of Time
by Noctis Crucis
Summary: Ron and Hermione's romance is going further as their feelings finally start to sprout out to greater levels. But although they like each other, maybe even love, they still are there to help Harry Potter, the Chosen One. Hermione does her research and take
1. Death Alive

**Prologue: Death Alive**

Hermione's heart raced as her eyes darted down the pages of her book. She knew everything she could about the Ministry of Magic including it's secret passageways and main corridors. All of the chambers and rooms she had scoped out, but what if she had made a mistake?

She felt adrenaline pulse through her veins as she decided on the start. She slammed the volume shut and slid it beneath the dumpster. Silently she snuck between a trash can and the brick wall of what muggles new not of, the Ministry of Magic.

Alert and confirmed, Hermione reached out for the door of the phone booth and swung the door open in haste. She needed to get the job done quickly, as hastily as her feet could carry her; as fast as her fingers could work.

The dial was entered and Hermione attached the badge (Secret Mission) onto her robes. The booth clattered and shook as it descended down to the sparkling level of the Ministry. As on the maps, Hermione spotted the sparkling fountain, the gleaming front desk, and the roaring fireplace. She stepped forward, her shoe echoing against the walls. Portraits looked down at her with glaring eyes, but did not say a thing. Hermione looked around, peering around for the elevator, which she found to the left of her. She pushed through a golden gate and landed herself in a room full of at least twenty lifts. She made her way across the glass-like floor and forced the grilles of one of the lifts open.

The elevator, if she could call it that, vibrated and clattered to level seven, level six, and finally level five. Hermione stepped out just as the smooth woman's voice said, "Level five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law, and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats."

Like the entire Ministry, it was an empty office full of messy desks and tidy floors. The room stretched down for what seemed like a quarter of a mile, but Hermione knew better than to think anything like that—it was simply a large room, small chamber.

Time was precious, however, and she had no time to dawdle and stand around.

Hermione shuffled around the desks, glancing quickly at unfinished paperwork, pictures of family, and important manilla folders strewn upon desks. Memos flapped around above, waiting for Opening.

"Door number 3...door number 3..." she muttered, making her way across the room and next to the wall. Doors were scattered at different distances apart. They each had different number plaques labelled for certain needs. Finally, Hermione's eyes placed upon door number 3.

"Alohamora!" she thought, pointing her wand at the handle. A slight "click" was heard and she grasped the golden handle, turning it.

Hermione practically skipped across the room with excitement. She couldn't believe the success she endured. She beamed delightfully, placing her sight on various cabinets. Her smile fell to a frown, her excitement replaced with nerves. The map hadn't uncovered what each cabinet contained. But she mustn't fret, she had a mind of her own anyhow.

Quickly Hermione dropped to her knees to a shorter cabinet made of maple. The doors were completely solid, the legs made of cast iron. The top of the cabinet pointed upward, the edges curved and fancied.

Hermione touched the handle of the cabinet door and felt no defensive curse or spell. It seemed too simple, but she tried to open the door anyway. As she thought, the door wouldn't budge. "Alohamora!" she thought again, aiming her wand at the door. There was no satisfying "click" that she could refer to, and as she tried to open the cabinet, it once again did not attempt to open. She smiled smugly.

"Aussagen!" she muttered, swishing and jabbing her wand at the door of the cabinet. Where her wand tip touched was exactly where a window, no bigger than a pea, appeared. She took her wand away and looked through the small hole into the dark cabinet. Finding not what she needed, Hermione pulled away, standing up with frustration. Below on the cabinet door the window was dissolved into wood once again.

Hermione was baffled, and stood next to a taller cabinet next to the maple one. She inhaled, muttered the incantation, and peered through the door. The oak cabinet was also the incorrect choice. She started to panic slightly; her palms starting to sweat as she repeatedly gripped her wand tighter yet.

"Aussagen!" she murmured at the mahogany cabinet. The cabinet of this one was far too large in her opinion, but she knew all too well that the Ministry held secrets she could only think of. Hurriedly she situated her eye against the peep hole and only saw a heap of scrolls.

"But it has to be here!" she grumbled. Her eyes darted around the room, first at the next cabinet, then at the door, then at the smallest cabinet, and another time at the stationary door. It was a puzzle that even her mind couldn't figure, but she knew that her time was of essence. With haste, Hermione made up her mind and rushed over to the smallest cabinet, entirely made up of hickory.

The legs of the cabinet were completely straight, excluding the small rounded feet at the base of each of the four legs. The body of the cabinet was completely chic, with intricate designs on the walls, drawings of lions, serpents, leaves, and roses. The doors were completely opposite however; standing plain and simple the exception of the brass handles which gave the design of many vines. "Aussagen!" Hermione said, her wand against the locked door.

Pulling away her wand, Hermione couldn't see a window. A slight terror touched her soul, but it was quickly recovered with the soothing memory of one of last year's Charms lesson.

_"However, if the object you are trying to charm is stronger than a simple "Aussagen," you will need the alternative, "Stabil Aussagen" which is German for–anyone? Ah, Miss Patil!"_

"_Solid Reveal, sir?"_

"_That is correct! 5 points to Gryffindor–"_

"Stabil Aussagen!" Hermione muttered fiercely, jabbing the cabinet a little harder then meant be. With success, the same window appeared as before. Hermione put her eye to the small circular viewport, staring into its depths—

Hermione screamed, strong pain piercing her body and stabbing her bones. The pain was so intense, she couldn't overcome. But she needed the cabinet open–it was the only one! It was the correct one—

"Bombarda!" she screamed, targeting the small cabinet. The hickory cabinet blasted apart, shards as small as slivers darting out in every direction. She felt a handful of wooden shards slice at her cheeks, as small as paper cuts but as afflicting as knives.

Anguish attacked her heart, clutched her lungs. She gasped for breath as she bent down to grab the object, while the many others were scattered among the broken cabinet pieces.

"Reparo!" she directed, fixing the artifact around her neck and under her robes. The cabinet didn't come together, but the slivers quivered with excitement.

She fell down suddenly, as her knees gave out. Her weak ankles couldn't hold her weight, her soul couldn't take the pain. How could she get out of the room?

But somehow Hermione found herself in the main room of level five. Her bones rattled, her legs weak; she crawled. She dropped her wand back into her pocket, trying to stand up. New strength flowed to her head, rolling into her heart, touching her muscles. Slowly she staggered from the room and into the elevator where she collapsed again.

Patiently she awaited her turn to depart from the grilles. The smooth voice sounded again, sounding the atrium. Hermione gathered herself again, standing up and staring out at the fountain. She tried to uncover the secret of the pain she beared back there; but why must she ponder now? Harry needed the artifact as soon as possible, the sooner the better.

"I would leave if I were you!" Hermione spun around, clenching her wand so hard her knuckles appeared white. A man, no older than Sirius Black and no uglier either, stood at the entrance of the visitor's phone booth. Hermione stared, trying to get a clearer view.

His face looked like wax, spread across his face. But even as she looked she could tell that there was more wealth in the cheeks and eyes. His robes hung loosely off of his body, and his hair swung handsomely in his face.

"S-Sirius?" Hermione stammered. "B-but why haven't you–" she broke off as her mind felt winded. She could scarcely breathe has her words were caught within.

"Hermione, run! Ministry officials know you're here! I am telling you—run!" Hermione nodded, stern but airy. She watched the transparent figure of Sirius dissolve from the air completely, leaving no trace behind. Just like he had warned, Hermione heard voices. The phone booth was rattling, falling toward the atrium and as soon as the scarlet fire turned emerald, she spun out of view from the building with a loud "crack!"


	2. The Graveyard

**Chapter 2: The Graveyard**

Ronald Weasley paced his room, his hands tied behind his back. If he had been sitting down he knew his leg would be bouncing and his fingers tapping. But could he not? His worries were all up on Hermione, who had been missing all day...

Twilight was falling.

The stars winked in the sky, sparkling like identical jewels and twinkling like pure snow in the sun's daylight rays. The moon was not yet full, but it had its merits. Remus could be heard downstairs, all of those steps away, yelling at Fred for sitting in his chair and Ginny for eating a Cauldron Cake. His tempers were escalating since his lack of potion. His wolf-like personality was driving to his brain with everyday. Molly and Arthur were desperately trying to study the potion Wolfsbane; one of the most complex and intricate concoctions aside from the Polyjuice Potion.

"Ron, will you give it a rest? She'll be coming back before you know it! She said she just needed to run an errand—" Harry broke off.

"—which, incidentally, could be _anything_ knowing Hermione!" Ron snarled. He dropped onto his vibrant orange bed and stared out his window, which was beginning to show its proof for a good washing.

CRACK

Harry almost jumped from his seat with surprise, but instead just tipped back slightly and plunged forward again. Ron, however, jumped up from his bed and was already holding Hermione in his arms looking into her eyes.

"Where were you?" he asked, pulling apart and turning around abruptly. He folded his arms and walked up to the windowsill, opening it halfway. He let the cool night breeze play across his worried face and dry his sweat of frustration. Hermione didn't speak, but put her hands on Ron's shoulders and pulled him back. He allowed it reluctantly.

"I have to tell you _both_ something very important. You mustn't tell a soul," she added, looking at Ron with raised eyebrows. He stared her back, his face full of guilty conscience and jealousy. He wanted ever so badly for her to tell just i him /i ; let it be a secret between the two of them...

Harry remained as silent as ever, holding onto her words. Ron looked away from her eyes and decided to examine his socks.

"Look Hermione, it doesn't matter now. I'm going to the graveyard tomorrow as soon as I awaken. I'm sure, Ron, you're mum wants us in bed before midnight, correct? I suggest we just turn in...Hermione, you can just tell us tomorrow. I'm not up for news," Harry interrupted, as soon as Hermione's mouth opened for speech. She pressed her lips together and pursed them at Harry. Ron looked curiously, almost defensively, back and forth between the two.

"No, Harry, this is really important!" Hermione urged, stepping forward. Ron put his hand on her shoulder to keep her from getting any closer to Harry. With annoyance she flung his hand off of her shoulder. "Leave me off Ron, he needs to know!"

"Know what?" Harry asked, looking at Ron. "You know what she's going to say and you haven't told me yet?" Ron shook his head quickly, afraid Harry would blow off his rocker like many times lately. He could scarcely blame him at all, truthfully, for with the death of Dumbledore, the betraying Snape, and Voldemort in charge; it was bound to climb his tempers. Still, none of it was their fault.

"No, mate, not at all. I don't know what she's going to tell you. But, Hermione, maybe Harry's right. I'm ready to turn in anyway, without the commanding of mum. Look, we best turn in. Harry's right."

Hermione stood in place, mouth half-open. She looked from the two and shrugged slightly, pursing her lips again.

"Fine then. But Harry, don't expect us not to come with you. Everyone teams up wherever we go now that Voldemort has a clear shot of his targets. We all defend each other. Good night Harry," Hermione said, bending down to hug him. They hardly touched when Ron stepped forward with unsureness. His jealousy blasted into his veins and into his heart, only when Hermione stood to her full length again and took him into her arms.

"Good night, Ronald," she whispered, purring in his ear. Ron blushed and felt his face redden, but only when he felt her smooth glossy lips press gently upon his cheek did he feel his knees weaken. He waved stupidly after Hermione as she descended out of view to Percy's old bedroom.

Ron's eyes flickered open as the morning sun's rays stretched across his face. The golden stream of light was a ribbon across his bed, and within the ray of sunshine could be seen the sparkling particles of morning dust.

Ron stretched, a yawn escaping his mouth into the quiet morning atmosphere. Harry was stirring as well, turning on his side on the floor below. With a slight push from Ron's foot, Harry was sitting up on his sleeping bag stretching as Ron had been.

"G'morning mate," Ron yawned.

The strong smell of eggs and bacon wafted to Ron's nostrils as he and Harry reached the ground floor of the Burrow, fully dressed and groggy. Soft voices could be heard in the distant room; the voices of Remus, Ginny, Fred and George, Tonks, and Mundungus Fletcher. Mrs. Weasley swooped down on the two boys holding two glasses of ripe-red cranberry juice. Ron took his, however Harry regarded his and sat down at the table instead. Ron took a guilty sip of the liquid and followed.

"Something the matter, dear?" Mrs. Weasley questioned as Harry clutched a fork. Ron took a seat on the opposite side, just as Hermione sidled into the room, looking dead with her eyes bloodshot and bushy hair screwed up to look like one large snarl.

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed loudly, and rather rudely as well.

"Molly—Mrs. Weasley—I don't think I'll be having any breakfast this morning. I'm just going to go to the graveyard right now. I don't have a large appetite. You two can stay here, but I'm not exactly hungry," Harry stated to Ron and Hermione, staring blankly at his empty plate. Mrs. Weasley nodded and slid back into the kitchen, wiping her hands on her egg-and-flour-stained apron. Ron and Hermione turned to Harry.

"Come on Harry, eat at least some toast. You'll feel less glum; trust me," Hermione pressed as she slid into the seat next to Ron.

"Yeah, come on mate," Ron kept on.

"Nah, I think I'm going to go. You two can stay or come, but I'm leaving." Harry looked up at the two and stood up, pushing his chair backward. Ron and Hermione watched him Apparate out of view with a loud, "CRACK!"

Mrs. Weasley tottered into the dining room seconds later holding a loaf of freshly baked bread. Her face fell as she saw the absence of Harry.

"You two best follow him. No one is alone these days. Hurry now!" she demanded. Immediately Ron and Hermione stood up and took each other's hands. Together they spun out of view of the Burrow's dining room.

Ron, meanwhile, was having difficulty breathing. The normal feeling of being forced down a too-small rubber tube suddenly felt very uncomfortable. He felt his lungs lurch for air, his eyes dart around for sight, his ears roaring for any other sound but this, his hand...ah...Hermione's hand was still in his. Ron gasped. He gagged for air.

"CRACK!"

Oxygen soared into his body again, relieving his lungs and soothing his brain. He brushed off his knees as he got up from the dirty ground. Hastily he reached for Hermione's hand, but she was already rushing up the cobbled path toward a shabby shed, her newly brushed hair bouncing off the back of her neck.

Ron felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle as he stepped through the entrance of the graveyard. Broken tombstones crumbled around, dead flowers curled on the ground. He started to walk slowly up the path, which gave the appearance of one large bone stretching from the black entrance gate to the shabby wooden shed at the opposite end.

Harry and Hermione could be seen through a mysterious foggy mist. Their heads were bowed over one large tombstone twice as big as all the others. It did not look any healthier, however.

Ron stepped over a heap of dead weeds that buried a tombstone and reached out for Hermione's arm. Clutching it he looked at the stone with the rest. In spidery letters the tombstone read:

**Lily and James Potter,**

**Aurors and proud members of the Order of the Phoenix**

**Loving parents of Harry Potter**

**May the magic flow through your bones forever**

**L 1952-1981**

**J 1950-1981**

Harry produced a bouquet of flowers from his wand and set them up against the tombstone. Ron glanced at his face and to no surprise a helpless tear rolled down his cheek, falling onto the thirsty ground.

"Oh Harry," Hermione whispered. Ron let go of her arm and she wrapped Harry into a hug, fixing her hands within her own and letting her tears spill upon the ground. Ron looked down at the stone again, produced his wand, and conjured two roses. He pushed his wand into the dirt next to the tombstone and set the two roses into the hole, hiding the empty space with loose dirt.

"It's okay, Harry, hang in there," Ron muttered, positioning his left hand on Harry's shoulder.

For ages they stood there, staring at the tombstone and crying tears of defeat. Together they hugged, comforted, and touched each other with consolation and sympathy. Harry sniffed and rubbed his nose, taking a step away. Hermione produced a bundle of tulips which she placed over a pebble next to Harry's lilies. She and Ron strode up to Harry once again and followed his spontaneous path. No one spoke a word in the musty silence of the graveyard. No one thought to think in the deadly presence of the cemetery. As a trio they walked past many crumbled and beat gravestones, glancing at curious names like, "Helga" and "Ogg."

Gray clouds blanketed the sky and hid the sun which was deep within the depths. Mist whorled over the tops of many headstones, shadows quivered in corners and behind stones. The smell of death became as strong as ever, a stench of fear and defeat.

"Harry, where—" Hermione stopped and gasped as Harry crouched down at a headstone that looked fairly new. In few places the stone was nicked and scratched, but it was the most intact headstone in sight for a mile. Ron bent down and gawped at the gravestone markings:

**Sirius Black,**

**Innocent fugitive and proud member of the Order of the Phoenix**

**Caring godfather of Harry Potter**

**May your innocence be strength in your afterlife**

**1950-1995**

A tear dropped from Harry's eye and fell onto his produced black rose, as black as the deepest hole. From there he placed the flower against the tombstone, the bead of a tear like a bubble on the pedal. Hermione evoked a dragonsnap, as scarlet as blood itself, and set it on Harry's rose. Ron took a deep breath and conjured a petunia, as violet as the wildest sunset, and positioned it under the date.

"Harry," Hermione spoke softly, posing her hand on his back. Harry looked into her eyes which watered and glittered without the aid of the sun. "I saw Sirius last night." Harry laughed quietly and stared down at the tombstone, violent tears streaming down his face and hitting the ground like a waterfall. Hermione rubbed his back.

"No need, Hermione. Dreams are no use," Harry murmured. In the silence of the graveyard the silent murmur sounded like the most audible yell.

"It was not a dream," she said calmly. Harry stared, Ron straining onto her words. He grabbed her hand and held on, stepping closer. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he had seen the slight movement of a person in black, but he pushed it from his glance and stared into her eyes. His ears were roaring, waiting.

"Your godfather is a ghost, Harry."


End file.
